Work's a Killer
by jenben
Summary: Someone has murdered one of Jesse's patients and he's determined to find out who. Unfortunately, they're determined he doesn't.
1. Suspicious death

Disclaimer:  I don't own Diagnosis Murder or its characters and I make no profit from this fictitious story.

A/N:  This story focuses mainly on Jesse because we all love him so.  While my last Diagnosis Murder fic verged on funny, this one is a bit more serious.  Just thought I'd let y'all know.  Oh, and please review (constructive criticism is important).  It keeps me wanting to write and it's your responsibility as a fellow author and reader.  Thanks, kids!

Work's a Killer

            Jesse flew into the room as soon as the code was called.  He had just past the door when the alarm sounded and he almost ran into the wall.  After a moment, the code cart, nurses, aides, and orderlies followed.  It was a code blue.  

            "No pulse," one of the nurses informed him.

            "Okay, bag him," Jesse ordered as he began pressing on the man's chest to stimulate some action from the heart.  "Give him 20 of epinephrine.  We got anything?"

            "Nothing."

            Jess stepped back.  "Okay, charge the paddles 250.  Clear."  He glanced at the nurse who shook her head negatively.  "Charge 300.  Clear."  

The nurse looked up at Jesse, her brow furrowed.  "I think I've got a…wait.  No.  He has no pulse."

"Damn!  Charge 350.  Come on, buddy!  Clear."  Still nothing.  "Okay, he's a big guy; let's charge 400."  He was a little nervous to put that much electricity through a man's body, but there was little other choice.  "Clear."

            "He's not responding, doctor."

            "Then we'll do it again!"

            Another 400 volts passed through the limp man's body but still produced no result.  Jesse sighed sadly and shook his head, placing the paddles back on the cart.  "Time of death," he sighed, "22:07."

            "What'chya doin'?" Steve asked Jesse as he walked into the doctor's lounge.

            "Trying to find out why a man died," Jess replied as he looked up from the medical charts.  The dark circles were evident under his eyes and he seemed very frustrated.

            Steve sat down.  "That happens at a hospital sometimes.  It isn't your fault."

            "Not this time.  William Harrow, 53 years old.  He came into ER yesterday with a very severe case of E. Coli.  We admitted him and were treating him for dehydration, nutrient loss, and anemia."

            "And?"

            "And he died of an heart attack two hours ago!"

            "Heart attack?"

            "What about an heart attack?" Mark asked as he walked into the room.

            Jesse looked over at his mentor and friend.  "I lost a guy to an heart attack today, but he came in with E. Coli.  I just don't understand it."

            "Lemme see his chart."  Mark read it over while Jesse stared sadly at the wall.  Steve got up to make them each a cup of coffee.  It was the only thing he could do since all the medical talk left him with a headache.  Mark finally looked up.  "He was overweight, had high blood pressure, smoked, and drank.  He was inline for something like this, Jess.  It's a little odd that the heart attack came without warning, but not unheard of.  I think you're beating yourself up for nothing.  You couldn't have known this would happen and you obviously did your best to save him."

            Jesse shrugged.  "I just feel like something's wrong; it shouldn't have happened."

            "It never feels right," Mark consoled.  "When does your shift end?"

            The young man suddenly looked a little sheepish.  "Two hours ago.  I was on my way out when he coded.  I've been going over his chest ever since."

            "Do you do _anything_ outside of medicine?"

            "Do you do anything outside of _police work_?" 

            Mark put a hand up.  "Jess, go home.  Get some sleep.  Try to take your mind off this."

            He stood up, suddenly overcome by exhaustion and the power of suggestion.  "I know.  You're right.  I'll see you tomorrow.  Thanks, guys."

            Mark sat back with his coffee.  "Poor kid.  You feel responsible for every death," he said with empathy.

            "He works too hard, dad.  It's no surprise he's in here obsessing."

            "So what are you doing here at this hour?"

            There was a long pause while Steve fidgeted in his chair.  He finally answered, "Police work."

            Jesse was almost out the door when he spotted Mrs. Harrow filling out paperwork.  When he saw a tear fall onto the paper, his heart went out to her and his resolve to go home melted.  "Do you need some help with that?" he asked as he sat down next to her.

            "Wha'?  Oh, Dr. Travis."  She wiped her eyes hurriedly.  "Help?  Help.  I don't know.  I can't seem to focus on these forms.  I'm just so…so…"

            "Shocked?"

            She nodded slowly.  "I don't even know about this stuff.  Bill took care of the insurance.  He took care of everything that had to do with finances.  I can't even answer most of these questions.  What is an account number?"

            He explained where she could find it and pointed out that the numerous forms asked a lot of questions that had already been answered in Mr. Harrow's admission papers.  "I can ask for those if you want."

            "That would be awfully helpful.  Oh, I'm so glad Miss. Nelson brought him in.  I'd only have made it worse.  _She_ understands all this stuff."

            "Miss. Nelson?  Who is she?"

            "Bill's secretary.  He got sick at work so she drove him here.  I just don't know what would have happened without her.  She's a very bright girl she's so…so…helpful!"  The woman broke into tears and turned to Jesse for comfort.  Awkwardly, he put his arms around her.  He wasn't used to 60-year-old women sobbing into his shoulders.  He was a busy doctor.  He was on the ball.  He was determined to save lives.  He…was getting very wet.  "I just don't know how this could happen.  He was so full of life," she whimpered.

            Jesse sighed and extracted himself from Mrs. Harrow.  "Anybody that smokes two packs a day and drinks a fair amount is at a very high risk for an heart attack.  Didn't your own doctor warn him?"

            She looked very confused.  "Bill didn't smoke and he certainly never drink.  His father was an alcoholic so Bill wouldn't touch the stuff.  I know he was a bit overweight, but he just loved food.  He loved my food.  He loved…me!" she cried and began sobbing on Jess's shoulder again.  He soothed her absently, more concerned with what she said.  Mr. Harrow's chart had listed him as a smoker and a drinker.  Who would lie about something like that?  Certainly not Mr. Harrow—the only position he'd been in was doubled-over.  Something was seriously wrong and Jesse wanted to get to the bottom of it.  He started by removing himself from Mrs. Harrow.

            "I am so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Harrow; you obviously loved him a great deal.  I'm going to go finish some work on your husband's records, but I'll send a nurse over with his admission forms and she'll help you understand them."

            "Thank you so much, Dr. Travis.  I know you gave Bill the best care you could."

            Jesse left her, determined to find out what was wrong.  It sounded crazy, but he could just sense that something was very wrong.  So crazy or not, he went back to his apartment with William Harrow's chart and a lot of questions.


	2. Mark Jr

A/N:  This chapter is more detective work than exciting adventure, but don't worry—we'll get to it!  Anyway, thanks for your the swell reviews.  I really do appreciate them and humbly ask that you keep 'em coming.  They're very helpful.  Also, just so you know, this is set before BBQ Bob's and all that (which explains the Chinese food).

Chapter Two:  Mark Jr.

Jesse sat in his apartment with a pot of coffee and Mr. Harrow's charts.  He had tried to go to sleep—he really had—but thoughts and worries kept him awake.

            At first it had been a matter of screwing up; what had he done wrong?  After the disturbing revelation that someone had lied on the admission forms, he couldn't shake the feeling that his patient's death was suspicious.  It gnawed at him.

            A loud knock interrupted his reverie.  "I'm coming."

            It was Steve, holding the best smelling Chinese food on Earth.  Jesse grabbed it and walked towards the kitchen, leaving Steve at the door empty-handed.  "And a fine good evening to you, too."

            Jesse skid to a halt, then turned around sheepishly.  "Sorry.  I just didn't realize how hungry I am 'till I smelled food.  I wondered why I felt nauseous."

            "Well, then go grab some plates because I'm famished, too.  And get a couple of beers."

            When he returned, he found Steve holding the charts and glaring.  Jesse knew that glare but asked anyway.  "What?"

            "You didn't get any sleep."

            "And how do you know that I didn't just wake up?  It's been three hours since I left the hospital."

            "Oh?  And _did_ you just wake up?"

            "Well, I…um…no."

            "Jesse!"

            "Steve!"

            Steve sighed and took his plate.  "You can't do this to yourself.  You work ridiculous hours at the hospital, then when it's time for you to leave, you stay.  And when you finally get home you spend your time pouring over work.  Even _I'm_ not that bad."

            "Okay, first of all, yes you are.  And secondly, there's something weird about this case."

            "And that would be…?"

            Jesse, who had already finished both his food and his beer, explained what he had learned.  "It doesn't make any sense; the woman who filled out those forms answered three important questions incorrectly."

            "And you don't think it might just be a mistake?"

            "Steve, smoking, drinking, and especially high blood pressure all contribute to a heart attack.  _If_ his chart had been true, Mr. Harrow would have been a walking coronary.  But it wasn't."

            Steve's brow furrowed.  "You think this was murder?"

            "I don't know—maybe.  It's suspicious and I'm not gonna be satisfied until I figure out these discrepancies.  He was my patient, Steve; I was responsible for him."

            The older man nodded slowly, but he was smiling on the inside.  Jesse was an awesome doctor—Mark was always extolling his praises—but it was his passion, persistence, and dedication that put people in awe.  "Look, Jess, if I look into this, will you take a break?  Get some rest?  Y'know—stop obsessing?"

            A smile lit the doctor's face.  "Really?  Will you?  That'd be fantastic!  I know if something's wrong, you'll be the first to spot it.  Now, here, on his chart…" Jesse explained the more complicated medical aspects, but quieted down when Steve read over the admission forms.  He read them absently, more concerned with the same inconsistencies that plagued Jesse.  He had to admit it was odd, but a few false answers on paperwork didn't constitute murder.  Then again, it wouldn't hurt to just poke around a bit.

            After twenty minutes of silent reading, Steve finally noticed how very quiet it was.  He rolled his eyes when he found Jesse sound asleep—on his shoulder no less.  Apparently he wasn't content to just _read_ over that shoulder, as he had been doing a few minutes earlier.

            "All right, come on, Jess.  It's time to go to bed."

            Jesse mumbled, agitated that his pillow was getting up.  He let Steve haul him off the couch and walk him to his bed, then pull up the covers.  He settled down happily and murmured a thank you.  Steve just stared down and shook his head.  "He definitely needs to find some hobbies."

            "So, are you ready?"

            Steve stared blearily at the eager young man at the door.  "Jesse, what are you doing here at…eight in the morning?"

            "I thought you'd want to get started on Mr. Harrow's case.  I have the day off thanks to _some_body's over-protective father, so I thought I'd go with you.  Why aren't you ready to go?"

            "Yeah, remind me to thank dad for this."  Steve stepped aside so Jesse could enter the house.  "First of all, Mr. Harrow doesn't have a case.  I'm just going to poke around a little.  Secondly, I'm not ready to go because I have the day off.  I was asleep.  _Was_ being the operative word.  And thirdly—I know I've tried to make this clear before but let's give it another try—_you are not a cop_.  You are a doctor.  And possibly a clone of my father."

            Jesse just smiled.  "Okay, so you go get ready for the day and I'll make breakfast.  I figure we can leave in about half an hour if you move it.  Wha'dya say?"

            "I guess I say two poached eggs and toast.  And very strong coffee."

            Thirty minutes later they were out the door and on their way to Lealer, Rubin, Horn, and Associates brokering company.  It was where Bill Harrow worked and the last place he had been before getting sick.  They stopped in front of the receptionist's desk.

            "How may I help you?"

            "Detective Steve Sloan.  I'm here about William Harrow's death.  Is there someone I can speak to?"

            The receptionist's face grew somber.  "Oh, I just couldn't believe when I heard.  He was such a wonderful man.  Now, let me see, you'd want to speak with Julie—Miss. Nelson.  She was Bill's secretary and probably knows more about him than anyone else here.  She's in room 623; you can take the elevator up there."

            They arrived to find a young woman placing office supplies into a box.  She was smartly dressed and quite attractive, though her demeanor screamed efficiency.  She stopped as soon as she saw Jesse and Steve.  "Can I help you?"

            Steve introduced himself and Jesse, not letting the doctor get a word in.  "There were a few odd discrepancies in Mr. Harrow's charts that I was hoping you could clean up.  Do you have a minute?"

            "Oh…yes.  I was just cleaning up Bill—er, Mr. Harrow's desk.  What is it you need to know?" she asked, gesturing at two chairs.

            "It seems some of the information was wrong and, as I understand it, you filled out the forms," he explained, sitting down.  "Where did you get the impression that Mr. Harrow smoked, drank, and had high blood pressure?"

            Miss. Nelson looked surprised.  It was a look Jesse couldn't pin down but he knew he didn't like it.  "Well, because he did, of course."

            "But I spoke with Mrs. Harrow and she said none of that was true.  Apparently Mr. Harrow had unusually good blood pressure and he wouldn't touch alcohol."  Jesse shrugged imperceptibly in Steve's direction when the older man gave him a _look_.

            "Oh, poor Mrs. Harrow had no idea.  Bill didn't want her know he had bad habits like those so he never drank or smoked around her.  As for his blood pressure, _he_ was the one who complained the doctor wanted him to cut back on salt.  I just assumed that was why.  I'm sorry if I got it wrong.  Am I in trouble for that?"

            Steve shook his head.  "Of course not.  We just want to make sure everything is square."

            "It's odd, though, that Mrs. Harrow never smelled the cigarette smoke on him," Jesse spoke up again.

            "I'm sure he explained it away as second hand from a colleague.  There are plenty of people here that smoke.  Besides, Mrs. Harrow is a very trusting woman; she'd believe anything Bill told her."

            There was a moment's silence and then Steve started to get up.  Except Jesse had another question.  "I noticed while we were driving here that you're closer to St. Lawrence Hospital.  Why did you bring Mr. Harrow all the way over to Community General?"

            Miss. Nelson shifted, looking a bit uncomfortable.  "I know I probably should have taken him to St. Lawrence, but Community has a much better reputation and its facilities are nicer.  Also," she explained, blushing, "my boyfriend works there so I knew he would get the best care and I would be kept up-to-date on his condition.  Pete said I should always try to get to Community General if I could."

            "Pete?"

            "Pete Cummings—he's an O. R. nurse."

            Steve stood up before Jesse could ask any more questions and physically _helped_ the younger man towards the door.  "Thank you so much for your time, Miss. Nelson.  We'll let you know if we have any more questions."

            As soon as they were outside, Jesse stopped to confront Steve.  "What was that all about?  Why did we leave?  Couldn't you see she was hiding something?"

            "Would you calm down, please?  I can't handcuff her and interrogation with cattle prods is frowned on.  I called Amanda when we were home and asked her to do a full autopsy with Mrs. Harrow's permission.  Let's go get the results and see where that leads us."

            Jesse huffed a little but settled back in the seat.  "I guess so."

            "You guess so.  Thanks.  Your confidence in my detective skills overwhelms me.  You know you're more obsessive than dad?"

            "Really?  Thanks!"

            "We got a problem."

            Pete sighed on the other end of the phone.  He was enamored with Julie, but sometimes she wore on his nerves.  "What is it?"

            "There was a cop and a doctor here today asking about Bill."

            "_What_?"

            "Yeah, they caught those little white lies in his charts.  The cop seemed pretty satisfied with my answers, but the doctor wasn't convinced."

            "Who was the doctor?"

            "Jesse Travis."

            "Travis?  Great!  He's the one who hangs out with Mark Sloan—you know, the doctor who's always helping out the police department.  I'll bet the detective was Steve Sloan?"

            "How'd you know?  What are we gonna do?"

            There was another sigh.  "I don't know.  I'll keep my eyes open here and try to find out what's going on."

            "Good.  Keep me posted."


	3. Shot Through the Heart

A/N:  Wow!  _Thanks_ for the awesome reviews!  I can't tell you how much I _appreciate_ all those long ones you put effort and time into.  It makes me feel so _good_ to know you not only _value_ my work, but you're willing to even discuss it a little.  _Keep it up_!  As for reviews that focus mainly on spelling errors, I welcome those, too, but I would be so _grateful_ if you'd also talk about content.  Thanks again and lemme know what you think!

Shot Through the Heart

Steve, Jesse, Amanda, and Mark sat in the doctor's lounge.  The three scientists poured over Amanda's report and talked back and forth in medical jargon.  Steve just drank his coffee, although he did recognize the part where Amanda pointed out there hadn't been any gooey stuff blocking his heart.

            "I knew something was wrong!" Jesse finally exclaimed.

            "I realize I'm just the lowly cop, but do you three want to clue me in?"

            Amanda took over to explain her report.  She pointed to a word on it and looked at Steve expectantly; he couldn't even pronounce it, let alone understand what it meant.  He eyed her with a cocked brow.  "There are some drugs that cause the hart to beat slower; so slow even, that it may appear to have stopped," she finally explained.  Sometimes she forgot lay people existed.  "It leaves the patient in a coma-like state and without proper distribution of the drug and medical supervision, it can be fatal."

            "And you found this drugs in Mr. Harrow's blood?"

            "Yes."

            "And it definitely shouldn't have been there?"

            "Absolutely not."

            Steve nodded.  "Then it looks like we officially have a murder, making this a police matter.  Now don't worry, Jess," Steve precluded the younger man's argument.  "I'm not going to leave you out of this; I'm just saying that we can utilize police records and warrants instead of merely your _outstanding_ detective skills."

            Jesse rolled his eyes but didn't look upset.  As long they found Mr. Harrow's murderer and he was involved, he couldn't complain.  "Then tell us, Mr. Super-Detective, what do we do now?"

            "I go to the station and run a background check on Miss. Nelson and Mr. Harrow.  I would really like to know if Miss. Nelson has any medical background."

            "I can check around here and see if she visited him," Mark offered.  "I mean, he was only here for a little over twenty-four hours, and half of that was spent in ER."

            "And I'll go see if there are any drugs missing from the cabinets and any evidence left in Mr. Harrow's room.  I don't see how anyone could get a drug that powerful outside of a hospital."

            When the three men left with their assignments, Amanda stayed in the lounge sipping her coffee.  Pathology could be so much easier than internal medicine or surgery; her patients never died on her.  They didn't have the chance.  And they never complained about having to wait for hours or her bedside manner or even cold hands.  Actually, they didn't do much complaining at all.

            Pete took a deep breath and stepped into the autopsy room.  He knew Dr. Bentley wasn't in there, but his goal was to get information of her assistant, Dr. Shishanka Murthathra.

            "Oh, hello," the resident said, looking up from his microscope.  "Is something wrong?"

            "No, no.  I just came down to get the file on Mr. William Harrow.  Dr. Laky asked to see it for a review."

            "Dr. Laky?"

            "Yeah, in urology."

            "Urology?"

            Pete had to push down an eye-roll.  "Don't ask me to explain, I'm just running errands.  She said she wanted to know if anything unusual showed up in the reports so that's what I'm down here for."

            "Oh, Dr. Bentley has the file, but there was certainly some unusual findings!"  Shishanka stood and walked towards Pete, his manner almost conspiratorial.  "It turns out that Mr. Harrow was murdered!"

            "Murdered?"

            "Oh, yes!  He was drugged to appear to be in cardiac arrest.  Can you believe it?  A murder in our own hospital!"

            Pete feigned disbelief and promised that he would tell Dr. Laky immediately, then high-tailed it to a phone to call Julie.  "They did an autopsy."

            "And?"

            "And I just heard a pathologist use the word "murder" three times in two minutes.  Jule, I think we got a real problem here.  Let's leave.  Let's go to Mexico or something and chill out until this blows over."

            "Absolutely not!"

            "But they know it only _looked_ like he was in arrest."

            There was a long silence on the phone.  "Then he wasn't dead when the doctors got to him.  So technically the only bloody hands here are the doctor's."

            Pete sighed; he knew that tone.  "Fine.  What do you want to do?"

            "Don't worry your pretty little head, Pete.  I've got this one.  I know the perfect way to discourage everyone from digging around in what isn't their business." 

            It was three hours later when Mark walked into the doctor's lounge to see Jesse sitting on the couch with a letter in his lap.  The young man looked dejected beyond hope.

            "Jesse!  What's wrong?"

            Jesse handed Mark the letter, but never looked his mentor in the eye.  Mark put on his glasses and read out loud.  "'Dear Dr. Travis, please clarify what killed Mr. Harrow.  Was it the cessation of his heart or the unnecessary passage of electricity through his body?  Who, exactly, is to blame for his death?'  Jesse, who gave this to you?"

            "A receptionist.  She said she found it at her station."

            Mark looked up from the letter, stunned by the pain in his pseudo-son's voice.  He truly loved the young man like a child.  Oh, sure, he already had a son—one he loved beyond his realm of understanding—but Jesse was always so cheerful and eager, so full of compassion and warmth that it was hard _not_ to love him.  "You don't really believe this letter, do you?"

            "Believe what?" Steve asked nonchalantly, making his entrance into the lounge with a few envelopes and files.  "What letter?"

            His father thrust the letter at him, then sat down next to Jesse while Steve read the note.  His face instantly clouded with rage and a sense of injustice.  "Who sent this?"

            Mark could only repeat what Jesse had told him.  Steve was not a happy man.  "I can't believe this!  A murderer walks right into the hospital—_after_ committing the murder—to mock the person who cared for the victim?  And whoever did this must know we're onto something, or they wouldn't have sent it!  I can't believe the—wait a minute.  Did you ask him if he believes this?  Jesse, you don't believe this stuff, do you?"

            Jesse shrugged.  There was a pause before he answered as he struggled to find the words.  "It isn't wrong.  I mean, he wasn't having a heart attack."

            "You are _not_ responsible for this!" Steve yelled forcefully, causing Jesse, and even Mark to some extent, to cringe back.  The cop sighed and gave the letter back to his father; he hadn't meant to sound angry.  At least, not at Jess.  "I'm sorry.  It's just—I don't understand how you could believe this."

            The young man shrugged again, but his face betrayed his pain and he couldn't even look his friends in the eyes.  Steve sat down at the table, totally disgusted with the human race even as Mark put an arm around Jess and tried to soothe his anxiety.  Meanwhile, the quietest of the three just looked at the letter in Mark's lap, rereading it over and over again.

            "Jesse?" Mark asked softly, feeling the boy's trembling increased.  "Jesse, are you okay?"

            The doctor finally looked up at Mark as a tear slid down his face.  "I think I killed him."


	4. Getting to Know You Part One

Readers—

Wow.  I was _shocked_ by the response I got.  Flattered and surprised.  Reviewing, I've come to discover (I should have discovered this earlier; I've been posting for two years, for Heaven's sake!) is a difficult process for both the reviewer and the reviewee.  It has the opportunity to uplift or sincerely hurt.  In retrospect, I'd like to offer apologies to anyone I reviewed who felt offended.

I decided to continue the story.  Please bear with me; my life is very difficult at the moment.  In retrospect, I overreacted about a couple of reviews and (again) I'm sorry.  Many of you are right—I need a thicker skin.  As for Mary—this probably isn't one of my best stories; my dad died of a heart attack about four months ago and my mom lost her job a week before that, so getting by—let alone writing fantastico—has been rough.  Please see my _Scrubs_ fic for evidence that I really do research my medical information.  I really do try!

Thanks all of you for your time and kind words.  They mean a lot and I'll try to update again soon.

—your humble author

GETTING TO KNOW YOU (PART ONE)

"Jesse—"

            "Jess, you didn't—"

            "I did!  I killed Mr. Harrow!  How is a man supposed to survive the epinephrine or shocking I game him?  That would kill a _healthy_ man, let alone someone suffering from E. Coli!  I should have—I should have checked or made sure he was really in arrest or _something_!"

            Even Steve knew enough to know that when the alarm sounds for an arrest, thought is replaced by training.  Jesse did exactly what he or any other doctor should have done.  "How could you have known?  There's no way you could have known he was drugged."

            "Every good doctor knows that you can't always accept what appears obvious."

            "I can't believe you would give into something like this!" Steve yelled.  "It's obviously a ploy to make us stop investigating."

            "Because no you have to arrest me."

            "No!  Jesse!"

            Mark put a stop to Steve's yelling by placing his hands on Jesse's shoulders and turning the young man to face him.  He gently, but firmly, pushed his protégé back onto the sofa.  "Jesse, I need to know something.  Do you respect me?"

            "Respect you?  Of course!"

            "And do you think I'm a good doctor?"

            "You're the best doctor I've ever known."

            Mark nodded.  Those were the answers he'd been expecting.  "Then let's try a little role reversal; if I had tried to resuscitate Mr. Harrow using standard procedures, would I be guilty of murder, too?"

            That stumped him.  Mark would never endanger a patient's a life; he truly was the best doctor Jesse had ever known.  "Well…no, but…"

            "Jesse, if I'm a good doctor and you respect me, then you need to believe me when I say you aren't to blame.  I would have done exactly what you did and I would be beating myself up about it, too.  Except we don't have that luxury right now because someone is responsible for murder.  Someone who is not you," Mark cut Jesse off before he could interject his responsibility.  "Jesse, I promise you—as a doctor and as your friend—that you're not at fault.  You can't give up on this investigation and you can't blame yourself."

            Steve took the opportunity to add his two cents.  "Jesse, somebody went to a lot of trouble kill a man and we're obviously on the right track since they sent this letter.  Now you don't have to help me investigate anymore, but—"

            "No—no, I want…I mean, I think I should help.  I have a responsibility to Mr. Harrow.  I just wish things hadn't happened the way they did.  I could have prevented this."

            "Jesse."

            Jess shook his head.  "No, Mark, you don't understand.  The nurse thought she felt a pulse while we were trying to resuscitate him; if I'd taken a minute to check that out, he might be alive today."  Jesse said it quietly, as though he were revealing a shameful secret.  In truth, it was what had been nagging at him since he read the letter.

            "If you had taken that minute, you risked resuscitating Mr. Harrow into a vegetative state; time is of the essence when somebody codes and we don't have time to wonder if the nurse did or didn't feel a pulse; if she told you there was no pulse, you had a duty to continue CPR.  Jesse—son, you did the right thing.  There's no doctor in the world who would have done it differently.  Including me."

            The young man hung his head—grudging acceptance.  He _had_ to accept it; he couldn't argue with Mark's logic.  But it was Steve who really got the doctor's attention.

            "Don't you even want to know what I found out?"

            "You found something out?"

            Steve rolled his eyes and sat down.  "Look, Jess, I'm gonna explain this just one more time:  I am a cop.  It is my job to find stuff out.  Detectives detect.  What don't you get about that?"

            "It's just such a rare event for me to see you do that," Jesse replied, the hint of a smile on his face.

            Mark chuckled softly, thrilled to see Jess coming around.  Steve grimaced.  "Don't encourage him, dad.  Now do you two want to find out what I know?  Good, because it turns out Ms. Nelson's former employer is deceased—and I'm not talking about Mr. Harrow.  She was an administrative assistant in Boston three years ago; a few weeks after the company discovered an embezzling scam in her department, her boss died of a heart attack.  The embezzling stopped and she moved out here."

            "How much do you want to bet it wasn't her late boss who was behind the embezzling?"

            "A lot.  I've already got a team at Lealer, Rubin, Horn, and Associates combing for evidence.  And I'm having Ms. Nelson brought in for questioning.  If you two want to watch from behind the glass—"

            "We'll be there."


	5. Getting to Know You Part Two

A/N:  Thanks to everyone for the encouraging, helpful reviews.  I know you can empathize with my joy at receiving them.  _So_ c_ontinue reviewing_.  As far as "flames" are concerned, my take is entirely this:  "A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger." (Proverbs 15:1)  Mary, my friend, I'm gonna love you whether you like it or not.  And on with the show.

Getting to Know You (Part Two)

            Jesse stood behind the glass partition, nervously watching Steve talk with Miss. Nelson.

            "Would you like something to drink?  Coffee?"

            "That would be nice; thank you."

            Steve nodded to the other officer in the room who left to get the coffee.  "We don't think Mr. Harrow had a heart attack."

            "Not a heart attack?  Then how did he die?"

            "We believe he was given a fatal drug that caused his heart to stop."

            "Drugs?  Did the doctor kill him; malpractice?"

            Steve's eyes narrowed.  He could just imagine Jesse cringing behind the mirror.  "No, we believe he was murdered."

            Julie looked shocked.  "_Murdered_?  Who on earth would murder Mr. Harrow?  I don't think he had an enemy in the entire world."

            Steve just nodded and looked down at his notes.  "I understand you worked in Boston before here; is it a nice city?"

            "Yes."

            "Your last boss—he died of a heart attack, too, didn't he?"

            "Well, yes…but it's not as though he was given any drugs.  One minute he was dictating me a memo and the next I was giving him CPR.  I should have known it would happen, you know?  I mean, he had cholesterol like you wouldn't believe.  And now Mr. Harrow—I feel like a jinx."

            "And your last boss—he was involved in an embezzling scam, I understand."

            Miss. Nelson frowned but nodded.  "After he died, some of the embezzled funds were traced to an account of his in the Caymans.  But I don't think he did it; they were looking for a scapegoat and Mr. Robinson couldn't exactly defend himself.  Frankly, I think they just took advantage of his death."

            "I thought the same thing."

            Julie's brow furrowed.  "Why exactly did you call me in here, Detective?  You don't possibly think _I_ had anything to do with this?"

            "Actually, you're our prime suspect at the moment."  Steve loved interrogations; there was a perverse pleasure in playing people.  He should have been a psychiatrist.

            "How can you even accuse me of something like that?" she asked indignantly.  "I would _never_ hurt Mr. Harrow.  Ever!"

            Behind the glass, Mark turned to Jesse.  "She's very convincing."

            "What if she's telling the truth?"

            Mark's eyes widened in surprise.  "Do you think she's innocent now?"

            "I don't know.  Maybe.  When we talked with her before, I felt so sure she had done something.  It was a gut feeling, y'know?  But now, I guess I'm having doubts."

            "Jesse, I have always relied on my gut feelings, and often in opposition to others.  I can't even count the number of times I've pursued something to Steve's great annoyance, although I'm sure he could.  _Go_ with that gut feeling, Jess.  It'll rarely steer you wrong."

            The younger man laughed sadly.  "I guess I'm just having doubts about _everything_, huh?  At least I can be sure she lied about his drinking and smoking; Amanda's report said his liver and lungs were in perfect shape.  Well, as great as they could be considering his weight and age."

            Back in the interrogation room, Julie was incensed.  "I cannot believe this!  Somebody drugs my boss and you think _I_ had something to do with it; those problems on his admittance forms were just mistakes!"

            "How do you "accidentally" say that someone smokes and drinks?"

            "I don't know!  I was scared and confused; Mr. Harrow was throwing up and doubled over—he said there was _blood_ in his diarrhea!  How can you expect me to answer a couple of questions correctly when my boss looked like he was going to die?"

            Steve raised an eyebrow.  "It's funny, because you said that you had answered them correctly and that Mrs. Harrow was mistaken."

            Julie's face fell.  "Well, I—I mean…"

            "See, the thing is, we know that Mr. Harrow didn't smoke or drink.  The pathologist's report indicated that both his lungs and his liver were in excellent condition.  There was no indication of smoking or excessive drinking."

            "Look, I _did_ make a mistake on his forms.  I just didn't want to admit it because I thought it might have contributed to what happened.  Y'know, maybe because I didn't get down his information correctly, the doctors screwed up.  I didn't want to be responsible."

            Mark smiled at his friend.  "Tell me she isn't lying through her teeth."

            Jesse didn't say anything but continued watching intently.  It was the next question and answer that did away with all his doubts.

            "That could be possible," Steve observed slowly (there really was nothing as enjoyable as a good interrogation).  "But you also had the means of killing him—Pete Cummings.  He's your boyfriend, he has medical knowledge, and he has access to drugs.  And I think that if we look into the accounts at your brokerage company, we're going to find some misdirected funds.  Don't you?"

            Miss. Nelson's face suddenly hardened.  "I think I'd like my lawyer now, please."

            They couldn't hold her.  There wasn't any real evidence; the financial accounts hadn't been processed fully and lying does not constitute murder (much to Jesse's dismay).  After being released, Julie sat in her apartment with Pete.

            "This is insane!  Everything seemed so simple, and now it's unraveling!"

            "It's gonna be okay, honey.  I'm telling you, we should just leave—go to Mexico or Canada or anywhere that isn't here.  Please, Julie, let's just go."

            That only infuriated her.  "No!  I will not just go.  I don't care what they do or say or where they look, they can't pin Bill's death on me.  They can't!  Pete, what are we gonna do?  I sent that letter to Dr. Travis and it only landed me in an interrogation room; it's that stupid doctor.  _He's_ the one who started this whole mess.  He should have taken the hint and dropped the matter."

            "Jule, Mark Sloan is famous solving crimes and Travis is his little protégé.  There's no way a letter is gonna get them to stop looking.  They're gonna hound us, baby.  I'm telling you _we need to leave_."

            There was a long pause while Julie considered her boyfriend's words.  Sadly, her response was not what Pete had hoped for.  "So, a letter's not gonna do the trick, huh?  Maybe Dr. Travis needs more incentive.  Maybe he needs to get out of the way; voluntarily or not."


	6. Desperate Acts

A/N:  Gee, guys, thanks for all the helpful feedback—it means so much to me!  And if you come across something (besides a little, non-repetitious grammatical error J) that you'd like to constructively criticize, I encourage you to do so!  Also, I tried my best to research the effects of ether, but there isn't much out there.  I can only be as true to medicine as the Internet and my mother (a nurse) allows.  Thanks, kids!  ~jenben

Desperate Acts

Jesse was back in the ER, working hard to save lives.  Three hours into a long shift and he'd already seen six car crash victims (from four separate accidents), eleven broken bones, two gunshots, two knifings, and an attempted suicide by overdose.

            "And a partridge in a pear tree," the young man sang to himself.  He was taking a quick caffeine break in the doctor's lounge.

            "You seem in better spirits," Amanda observed as she entered.

            Jess grinned.  "Why shouldn't I be?  I treated 22 people this afternoon and they're all still alive.  The police are taking the case seriously, so they should be able to arrest Miss. Nelson soon.  Mr. and Mrs. Harrow are gonna get justice.  And," he added, holding up his cup, "the coffee doesn't taste like mud today."

            "It's about time you started sounding like yourself again.  You had us pretty worried.  Ooh, and the coffee _isn't_ mud today."

            He gave her a gentle smile.  "I'm not discounting the part I played in Mr. Harrow's death.  But _I know Miss. Nelson's guilty and now _Steve_ knows she's guilty and __Miss. Nelson knows that we know that she's guilty.  So we can kinda relax now."_

            Amanda stood staring at her dear friend and colleague.  "Jess, I love you and I think the world of you as a doctor, but please don't explain anything to me ever again."

            "I—okay."

            "All right.  I'm gonna go; you know how testy patients can be when you make them wait."

            He nodded knowingly and watched her leave, then stopped.  "Hey.  Wait a minute—your patients are all dead!"

            Two hours and fifteen emergencies later found Jesse's pager going off.  He was wanted on the third floor.  He found that odd, since the third floor housed the maternity ward and—thank you very much—he had _no_ reason to be in a birthing room.

            But medical personnel have a silly habit of not questioning their pagers, so Dr. Travis jogged up two flights of stairs and began walking down the corridor.

           There was a little part of him, that voice he found himself repeatedly ignoring, that sent out warning signals.  While walking down a corridor did not normally induce anxiety, it was a relatively bare section of the third floor.  Moreover, he didn't know with whom he was supposed to consult and what about.  He was accustomed to running all over the hospital without knowing _exactly_ what he was doing—he was a young ER doctor with an overactive pager.  But…

            _No,_ he scolded himself.  _You're just tired.  Remember that time you were tired and you thought you saw that guy get killed but he didn't really get killed because they were just trying to make it _look_ like he was killed……..Amanda's right.  I gotta stop explaining things._

            Those were Jesse's last thoughts before a sharp pain at the base of his skull sent him reeling into unconsciousness and the floor.

            Pete looked down, a little shocked at what he had just done.  In all his life he'd never hurt anybody, but Julie had said he would do this if he really loved her.  And he _really_ loved her.  More than anything.  So, shrugging off his conscience, he grabbed Jesse's legs and hauled the young doctor into a tiny supply closest.  He set him propped against the wall, then went for the bottles he had carted to the third floor.  Ether.  Six, two-liter bottles of the stuff.

            Julie had given him the instructions.  In the small closet, with no ventilation, the ether would stop his respiration.  Should he awaken before it did that, it would also knock him back out.  Moreover, the door locked from the outside, so he wouldn't be able to get out.  It was all very simple.  Just unnecessary.  If only Julie would _leave_—they could get away with no problem.  But she wouldn't.  And Pete would do anything for Julie.

            Breaking the bottles on the floor, Pete leapt out of the room, slammed the door, and was gone from the deserted corridor.

            "Have you seen Jesse?"

            "Yeah, a little over two hours ago in the lounge.  Why?"

            "Steve got those financial reports from the brokerage company; over five million in funds are missing.  They're being traced right now, but everything's haywire.  It looks like Miss. Nelson is trying to not only cover her tracks, but send the accountants all over the world looking for that money."

            Amanda smiled.  "It looks like he's on his way to arresting her."

            "I wanted to give Jess the good news.  If you see him first, let him know, won't you?"

            "Of course!  He'll be thrilled."

            Before they could continue their conversation, Mark's pager went off.  "I'll see you at dinner tonight—at the beach house?"

            "Wouldn't miss it."

            Not two minutes after Pete closed the door, Jesse woke up.  His head hurt worse than…well, worse than the last time somebody had knocked him unconscious.  Why was that always happening?  

Clutching his throbbing skull, it took a second for him to realize that he was choking.  Something burned his lungs.  But what on Earth was it?  And why was he beginning to feel so buzzed?  He managed to get to his feet, but it was an effort.  What…what…was that ether?

            That was when the side effects started to really kick in.  First his motor skills abandoned him and he fell to his knees.  Then he tried to call for help, but the only words that came out were complete gibberish.  He felt euphoric, but angry that his attempts to get help were failing miserably.  Why wouldn't his body cooperate?

            Jolts of energy were flowing up and down his spine.  The room blurred, spun, and no matter how hard he tried to get up, it was as though his brain had lost complete communication with his body.  The ceiling lights flashed like lightening.  Jesse avoided drugs, and he was now certain that had been a wise decision.  Through out it all, he continued chocking on the ether, unable to get the necessary oxygen.

            Before he could even grasp the great danger the situation posed, he found the floor coming closer and closer until it smacked him in the face and he was unconscious again.

            Moments later, Jesse's went into repertory arrest with no one around to call the code.


	7. It’s a Small Community After All

A/N:  On the fifth day of Christmas my readers gave to me:  Five great reviews (er, about that many)!  Thank you, thank you, thank you!  Oh, and do be sure to write another when you finish this chapter.  Hugz & kisses.  Your humble author  ~ jenben

It's a Small Community After All

            "I dunno," the female of two power-walking nurses huffed breathlessly.  "I told her that if she didn't want to eat what the hospital has to offer, she's welcome to ask her family to bring her food.  Then she got all snotty and started telling me she was going to talk to my supervisor.  Like I care!  Cheryl would only nod politely and then come pat me on the back."

            The male nurse chuckled; they spent their fifteen minute breaks power-walking together and gossiping about any patient who had PITA scrawled on her chart.

            "I think I took her some Ativan yesterday; a brunette with nails like claws?"

            "Yeah, that's her!  Can you imagine trying to change a baby's diaper with those nails?  Anyway, the girl in the room across the hall from—oh, look at that!  Somebody left the light on in the supply closet again; if I've told the orderlies once, I've told them a thousand times:   Don't waste energy!"

            She pulled out her key and almost had it in the lock when it clattered to the floor.  "Ed!  Ed, there's somebody in here; and he's unconscious!"

            "Unconscious?  Crap—move!"

            He had the door open before his colleague could even think to pick up her key.  It was rather thrilling, finally having an emergency that didn't involve the cervix dilated to ten and a screaming prego ripping the hair off his forearm.

            "What's that smell?" she asked as the whiff of ether hit them.

            "I dunno, but it can't be good.  Help me get him out of here."  As soon as they had the body moved, he knelt down to triage.  "Oh my gosh!  Peg, I don't have a pulse!  Go call a code blue; I'll try to get him breathing."

            Peg was off in a flash while Ed laid the young man flat and tilted his chin up.  Anything obstructing his airway?  No.  It had to be the smell; not enough oxygen—nothing to breathe.  So Ed did the breathing for him.  He pinched the nose and exhaled forcefully into the mouth, sure to watch the chest rise.  No response.  He blew again  No response.  Another breath—

            "Ed!"

            "I got nothin' yet."

            As if on cue, Jesse took a breath for himself while the code team ran down the hall.  And that was when things _really_ went wild.  People were talking, yelling, asking questions, answering questions; somebody put an oxygen mask over Jesse's face while two others hefted him onto the gurney.

            "Who is he?"

            "Jesse Travis—doc down in ER," Peg answered the doctor after a quick look at Jess' ID.

            "Dr. Travis, do you know what caused your arrest?"

            Jesse stared in confusion.  "Arrest…?"

            Ed answered, having taken a moment to look at the broken bottles in the closet.  "Ether!  Has to be a couple gallons worth of ether in there!  How on earth did that happen?"

            "We still keep that stuff in the hospital?"

            "Well, y'know, every hospital needs its _deadly carcinogens_."

            "Keep him on oxygen; lets get a pulse oximetry.  Are you injured anywhere else, Dr. Travis?"

            "No—I—my head hurts."

            "_What happened_?" Amanda demanded, rushing into Jesse's room ahead of Mark and Steve.  She looked a little wild.

            "Excuse me?" the attending doctor, Matt Dorsey, asked, annoyed.  Who was this insane woman interrupting his assessment?  "If you don't mind, I'm trying to—"

            "Don't care.  Jesse, what _happened_ to you?"

            "Don't care?  This is _my_ patient, Miss…?"

            "It's doctor, and this is _my_ friend!"

            "What happened?"

            "Is he okay?"

            "Who _are_ all you people?"

            Jesse was sitting up in the hospital bed, calmly watching his doctor and his friends argue back and forth.  He removed the oxygen mask and turned to face the surprised pregnant woman with whom he currently shared a room.  "So, when are you due?"

            "Um…two months."

            "That's nice.  Boy or girl?"

            "A girl."

            "Your first?"

            Long pause.  "Yes."

            "Well, congratulations.  If you'll excuse me, my friend, Amanda, looks like she's about to find a new use for that doctor's stethoscope.  Guys?"  Everyone stopped talking and turned to doctor-patient.  "How did you get here so fast?  I haven't even gone for tests yet."

            Dr. Dorsey nodded huffily and turned to three of the four musketeers.  "Which is exactly why I need you to _not_ be interrupting me.  I still have to get an EEG, skull and cervical CT's and x-rays, as well as an MRI.  _And_ I want to get his lungs and bronchia checked.  Is that a problem with any of you?"

            When Amanda was about to go ballistic at the crime committed against Jesse, and Jesse wanted to protest all the diagnostic exams, Mark put his hand up.  "No," he cut them off.  "We can talk while we test."

            "I got paged up to maternity and the next thing I knew, I was locked in the closet with the ether," Jess explained while they waited for the test results.  "We're either very close to catching Miss. Nelson or someone's got it out for overworked ER doctors.  How did you guys find out so quickly?"

            Amanda smiled.  "Jesse, it might be Community General Hospital, but it's a small community.  I'm just glad you're okay; _don't you ever scare me like that again_!"

            "Well, while _you_ were busy sleeping the night away," Steve began, smiling, "_I_ was doing my homework on Miss. Nelson."  
            "And?"

            "_And_ Miss. Nelson's savings account has over $100,000—and that's what we could trace here in the States.  We're working on any accounts she may have in Switzerland or the Caymans.  Moreover, we have an accountant looking at the records from Lealer, Rubin, Horn, and Associates.  So far, she's discovered three discrepancies.  Miss. Nelson may be good at stealing, but she's not very good at covering her tracks.  I think we'll be able to trace the discrepancies to accounts outside the U.S."

            Jesse was ecstatic.  "I knew it!  I knew it!  I told you!"

            Mark put a calming hand on his excited friend.  "We know; we believed you from the beginning, remember?  Now would you please take it easy?  You were technically dead a couple hours ago."

            "You're not gonna make me stay here, are you?  I can go home, right?"

            "I think that's my decision," Dorsey responded, holding up some papers and x-rays.  "Your EEG, MRI, CT's, and x-rays are clear.  It's a concussion, but there shouldn't be any complications.  Your lungs and bronchia are also okay, although your biggest worry with the ether is its effects as a carcinogen.  Still, I want you to stay overnight for observations."

            "But I'm fine!"

            "Dr. Travis, you have suffered a concussion and respiratory distress.  Staying overnight is a reasonable precaution for anyone under those circumstances."

            "Yeah, but that's only for people who don't know how to take care of themselves."

            "Says the person who answered a strange page in a deserted section of the hospital while helping to investigate a murder."

            "Steve!"

            "Jesse!"

            "Boys!"

            Dr. Dorsey folded his arms.  "I'm not going to argue with you, Dr. Travis, but I'd like to see you leave here AMA with these three people's consent."

            Jesse stayed the night.

            While Jesse slept soundly in a hospital bed, Steve talked on the phone with one of the county's fingerprint examiners.

            "Yeah, you sent me, like, fifteen different prints."

            "Really, when did it become painstakingly difficult to run a few prints through AFIS?"

            The lab technician rolled his eyes on the other end.  "Okay, I got seven hits; Adam Holmes, Megan Walker, Rob Turner, Pete Cummings—"

            "Cummings?  Thanks, that's all I needed to know."

            Steve was off with a vengeance.  A strong, vehement vengeance.


	8. Good Cop, Bad Cop, and Sarcastic Cop

A/N:  Chapter's a bit long, but I hope it makes up for the shorter ones I've been posting.  This is the _second_ to last chapter, with one more to come that'll tie up loose ends.  I appreciate all your support, the wonderful reviews, and the constructive encouragement.  I don't know where this story would be without you.  Please continue to review.  Thanks, kids.  ~your humble author

Good Cop, Bad Cop, and Sarcastic Cop

            Steve Sloan looked downright homicidal.  Which was ironic considering his job description read "Homicide Detective."  Then again, if he killed Pete Cummings, he wouldn't have to work hard finding the murderer.  _Can you place _yourself_ under arrest_?  _How would I drive to the station with my handcuffs on_?  _Wait.  I'm already _at_ the station, so I wouldn't have to drive anywhere_.  He shook his head, clearing out the ridiculous thoughts.

            The current object of Steve's wrath was Cummings, who sat mutely in interrogation room two.  He would not say one blasted word!  He wouldn't admit to hurting Mr. Harrow or Jesse, nor would he implicate Miss. Nelson.  He _especially_ wouldn't implicate Miss. Nelson.  After three hours of interrogation tactics (without, sadly, the use of a cattle prod), Steve was no closer to ending the matter.

            "Where's Miss. Nelson?"

            Steve spun around to face his father.  "Don't scare me like that!"

            "Sorry.  Did I interrupt your fuming?"

            That only earned Mark a grimace.  "You want to know where Miss. Nelson is, huh?  Well, so do I.  Tried to bring her back in for questioning two hours ago but we can't find her anywhere.  I've got patrols keeping an eye out for her car and I sent her picture to the airports and bus stations."

            "And?"

            "What 'and?'  Do you see her here?"  Steve took a deep breath and composed himself.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to snap."

            Mark gave his son a gentle smile.  "Not a problem; I've heard worse come out of your mouth.  And in case you're wondering, Jesse's doing fine.  He's sound asleep."

            "Yeah, I wonder how long _that_'ll last."

            Before the elder Sloan could respond, a hyper young clerk burst into the room, grinning from ear to ear.  "Hey, Lieutenant, you know how the messenger of bad news is punished, but he who brings good news gets rewarded?"

            "I trust this is going somewhere?"

            "Border patrol called and they have a young woman fitting Julie Nelson's description in custody.  They're bringing her in as we speak."

            Steve walked over and grabbed the clerk by his shoulders.  "I could kiss you, Joel."

            Joel blushed.  "That wasn't _quite_ the reward I was going for."

            "Well, I'll be sure to tell everyone you captured her single-handedly.  Now, if you'll both excuse me, I need to go inform Pete Cummings that his girlfriend is on her way."

            Julie looked perplexed.  It seemed she couldn't decide between shocked or indignant.  She opted for both.

            "How can you do this?  I would never hurt Mr. Harrow!"

            The booking officer just rolled her eyes and continued pressing Miss. Nelson's fingertips against the note card.

            "Look, don't you have to have evidence or something to arrest a person?  I mean—what are we—in Russia, or something?"

            "Actually," Steve commented as he approached, "if we were in Russia, I would have arrested you the first time we spoke.  Unfortunately, here in the USA, I _do_ need to have evidence and a charge.  And that charge, Miss. Nelson, is murder in the first degree."

            "_First-degree murder_?  How can you be serious?  How can you say something like that?  What is this "evidence" you have?"

            Steve just smiled.  "Miss. Nelson, in this interrogation, _I'll_ be playing the part of the cop.  So, do you want coffee, as before?"

            "No," she replied icily.  "I want my lawyer.  As before."

            "You're charging my client with first-degree murder because her boss died of a heart attack?  Detective—you've _got_ to be kidding me."

            "Oh, no.  No, no.  I'm not kidding at all.  Here's how I see it:  Your client somehow infected Bill Harrow with food poisoning.  Then, when he was sick enough to ask to go to the hospital, she drives him to Community General instead of St. Lawrence, where—lucky her—her boyfriend is a nurse.  As soon as he's stable and in a room alone, Pete Cummings stops his heart with an IV injection of…of…"  Steve frowned.  He hated medicine.  Why couldn't drugs have simple, pronounceable names?  He finally just pointed to the word on his file and let the lawyer peek.  "This stuff."

            "And her motive would be?"

            "Money.  Is there any other?"

            Julie sat up, irritated.  "And what would I have to gain from Bill's death?  It's not like I was his next of kin."

            "Well, there is that nasty little embezzlement.  Our accountants went over your company's records and do you know what was missing?  Money.  Nearly a half million dollars."

            "I didn't take any money."

            "Lemme guess; your dead boss happened to be embezzling _again_.  Gee, Miss. Nelson, you should find some better people to work for.  This kinda of behavior could be habit forming."

            Her attorney took the opportunity to speak up.  "Is there any other evidence besides speculation?"

            When Steve replied, he spoke to the lawyer, but looked at Julie.  "Your client has $132,338 balance in her credit union and we're currently looking into some very well hid Cayman accounts.  I've heard of making good investments, counselor, but that's an awful lot for a secretary."

            "I was his _paralegal_."

            "I don't care if you were his pimp—that's a lot of money."

            "It's not illegal to have money, Detective Sloan."

            He faced the attorney again.  "It is if she killed to get it.  Here is the way the cards fall:  There's well over $100,000 in your U. S. account.  Mr. Harrow died in the hospital where your boyfriend works, because someone stopped his heart.  Coincidentally, you lied on Mr. Harrow's admittance forms in such a manner that a heart attack would appear normal.  Your previous boss died of a heart attack, after which embezzling was discovered.  And, of course, there's the little matter of—"

            The accusations came to a stop by Joel, who was peering into the room.  "Uh, Detective?  Can I see you for a moment?"

            Steve stepped out.  "What is it?"

            "I have more good news; the accountant finally traced the Cayman's account to Miss. Nelson.  She has $462,651," he explained, taking a moment to glance at the pad of paper.  "If she's claiming to have got it legally, I want to know her secrets.  Oh, and please don't kiss me!"

            A moment later and Steve was sitting smugly at the table.  "Where was I?  That's right, we were going over evidence.  Miss. Nelson, where did you happen to get $460,000?

            "Wha—what?"

            "$460,000.  It's actually a little more than that, but I don't have a head for numbers.  _You're_ the one who deposited it into a Caymans account; why are you so surprised?  It doesn't look very good for someone who embezzles to forget about that much money."  Steve was beaming on the inside.  Was interrogation supposed to be this much fun?  Did he need to speak to the department psychologist?  "And speaking of looking good, your little trip to the border doesn't."

            Neither of the room's other occupants spoke, so Steve took it as his opportunity.  "Listen up carefully, Miss. Nelson; you can either save the city time and money by confessing now or a jury can crucify you later.  What is it gonna be?"

            An anxious quiet reigned until Julie finally broke.  "All right!  All right, I did it!  But I didn't do it because I wanted to!"

            "Are you trying to tell me _Mr. Harrow_ wanted you to?"

            "No, of course not!  Pete.  When I told Pete what happened with Mr. Robinson in Boston, he got the idea that I should embezzle again.  I know it was wrong to do that, but he said we could settle down if we had enough money.  So I stole it.  I didn't know he wanted us to kill Mr. Harrow!  I thought we'd take the money and leave; go to Mexico or something.  Then he said we could make more if I embezzled from another company.  But to do that, we'd have to get rid of Bill.  I told him no.  I told him I wouldn't do that.  But he threatened to turn me in for embezzling.  He said he'd take care of everything and all I had to do was get Bill sick and take him to Community General."  She broke down in sobs.  "I'm sorry!  I'm so sorry!"

            Steve sighed and sat back in his chair.  Time to go see if Pete would finally talk.

            "Where's Julie?"

            "What is it you people don't get about police interrogation?  _I_ ask the questions.  Me.  The cop.  Now, Miss. Nelson was kind enough to confess to embezzlement and murder, however she said that you're the one behind the—and I use this term loosely—_brains_ of the operation.  Since you're responsible for stopping Mr. Harrow's heart, I must admit that I'm prone to believe her."

            Pete's jaw fell.  "She told you what?  No!  This wasn't my idea!  Good Heavens, I _begged_ her not to do this!  I can't…I can't believe she would say that."

            "I gotta be honest with you, Mr. Cummings; I know it was you who tried to kill Jesse Travis."  Steve suddenly leaned across the table and got in Pete's face.  "And Jesse Travis is my best friend, which means you made an enemy.  So you were the one who drugged Mr. Harrow and you attempted to murder my best friend.  Things aren't looking very good for you."

            "I swear this wasn't my idea!  Julie embezzled, and then Mr. Harrow started looking over the finances in their department.  She knew he would find out, so _she_ came to _me_ with the idea to kill him.  She told me that if I really loved her, I would do this."  He looked dejected.  "I couldn't say no.  I do love her."

            "So you didn't tell her to embezzle again, then convince her to kill Mr. Harrow so she could embezzle at another company?"

            "Are you kidding me?  She brought the whole thing up one day, out of the blue.  One minute we were eating dinner, and the next she was explaining how she stole money from her last company.  Her boss had a heart attack and instead of giving him CPR, she let him die and then pinned the embezzling on him.  That's what she decided to do with Mr. Harrow.  Only she had to arrange for him to have a heart attack.  That's when she asked for my help."

            Steve only looked at the nurse.  He wasn't going to admit it, but he didn't believe Miss. Nelson for a second.  She was cunning; Pete was a lovesick moron.  "So, it's your word against hers.  And you're the one who stuck the needle in Mr. Harrow's IV.  Unless you've got some proof…"

            There was a moment of silence before Pete jumped out of his chair, triumphant.  "I've got proof!  In a box at home, every letter and email she ever sent me.  All of our IMs I printed out and stored in there."  He smiled sadly.  "I did if for posterity; you know, to remind us of the lengths I went to because I loved her."

            Steve nodded and left to find the letters.  Really an unusually successful interrogation.  The two had obviously planned the murder thoroughly, but never thought they'd get caught.  No wonder they had so desperately attacked Jesse; they were angry that the one-in-a-million doctor to treat Bill Harrow was a one-in-a-million kinda guy.  Steve smiled to himself.  Nosy, persistent, obnoxious, overzealous, and a little naïve, but Jesse was definitely one in a million.


	9. Wrapped Up

A/N:  See the end.

Wrapped Up****

            "So, Mr. Cummings was able to plea down to man-one, while Miss. Nelson accepted murder-two.  She couldn't have done any better; those emails were pretty damning."

            Jesse shook his head.  "Well, I think they deserve harsher—for Heaven's sake, they _killed _a man!"  He sighed.  "Still, I'm glad it's all over with."

            "So are we," Mark added emphatically.  "This was an ordeal for everybody, but especially you.  We're just happy you weren't killed."

            Amanda leaned across the table and pointed a finger at Jesse.  "And if you ever scare us like that again, I'll make your life a living nightmare.  Do you understand me?"

            "Yes, ma'am!"

            "If it's any consolation, Jesse, they both got the maximum sentence either conviction can bring.  Pete'll be spending 20 years in prison while Julie's in for life.  I gotta say, Jess, I'm proud of you.  Even if you _did_ wake me up at eight in the morning on my day off.  I'm not gonna forget about that, by the way."

            "Well, it helped that they were kinda stupid; they never thought anyone would notice the lies on his charts.  Of course, there's also my brilliant detective work."

            Mark chuckled and Steve and Amanda rolled their eyes as the three rose to leave.  They all had work, while Jesse was required to take time off.  Something about having died for a couple minutes after asphyxia and only surviving by the grace of God and he darn well better not lift a finger or else.

            After a few minutes of solitude, Jess stood to make his own exit when a receptionist appeared.

            "Here, this got delivered for you today," she told him, thrusting a package into his hands.  "Arrived in the mail.  Shouldn't you be at home?  Dr. Bentley's gonna kill you."

            "Don't I know it."

            He sat back down and carefully peeled away box's paper, half expecting another scathing letter from Miss. Nelson.  Instead, a simple, handwritten note lay over a gift-wrapped present.  With no one around to check his social etiquette, Jesse ripped into the gift before reading the note.

            "Oh, wow," he whispered, picking up the object of his awe.  It was a solid 18K gold pen, on the side of which read, _Jesse Travis, M. D._  Absolutely gorgeous, and now the most expensive thing Jess possessed, next to his car.  After a moment, he had the good sense to see the accompanying note and actually find out why he now had a gold pen.  What he read left him shocked.  It was from Mrs. Harrow and she proved far more eloquent on paper than in person.  And her words were exactly what he needed to truly close the case.  

_Dear Dr. Travis,_

_Bill believed in showing his appreciation.  I hope this small token can convey how much I appreciate your help._

_I learned of the letter Miss. Nelson sent, accusing you of Bill's murder.  I was also informed of your reaction and I wish to tell you that I do not share it.  Indeed, you don't have my anger, but rather my deepest gratitude.  Were Bill alive, he would say the same.  _

_Please continue with the wonderful work I saw you do, and remember that the people you help will always keep you in their hearts._

_With my unending thanks,_

Mrs. William Harrow 

Fini

A/N:  So, I ended another _Diagnosis Murder_ fic of mine with a letter.  Forgive me, but as Steve said, "This kinda behavior could be habit forming."  Kids, I appreciate your reviews; I do whole-heartedly.  Thank you.  Now, it's the end of the story and I ask you to, please, review again.  You know I'll be grateful.  ~your humble author, jenben


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